First Impressions
by Miiko Ashida
Summary: The tale of how Orochimaru found and selected Anko, a little girl brimming with potential...


Orochimaru had made a practice of frequenting the training grounds, watching the newly-graduated Genin condition themselves and spar against their cell leaders. No one questioned his motives; it was not unusual for an older shinobi to be interested in the skill level of the succeeding generation. He stood, watching, smiling when there was a child who showed exceptional skill, or chuckling to himself when he spied a blunderer barely keeping up with his teammates. In particular, he became occupied with a small, plain-looking girl, one of Yokomori Mitsukai's trainees.

Whatever her appearance said, she was anything but ordinary. Each day he observed her, she seemed to grow and develop overnight, her jutsus becoming more and more precise at a rate he had not seen since the days of his own childhood, and even then only in his teammates.

Naturally he considered what a nice ally she would make, when she was older. But more than that, he felt a strange sense of pride, simply watching her excel. The only girl in her cell, she was also the only one able to land even a fleeting blow on their teacher during sparring, and her chakra (what he could sense of it, watching from a respectful distance so as not to disrupt the lesson) was full of potential; she controlled it as well as any early-level Chuunin might. She was a gem, and as he watched her spark and shine underneath the noonday sun, he understood what it was to admire something for itself, and not its usefulness.

Of course, he still wanted her as a tool.

The opportunity to approach her came on a day when she had stayed late to practice after her teammates had departed. It was amusing, endearing, and a little impressive, how she carefully made certain each repetition of the technique was correct and did not try for a quantitative result, but one of quality. Most children had no concept for honing their skills so. But then, she was nothing like the other children in his other observations, either.

She paused mid-handseal when he came too close, spinning around to face him with a kunai ready. A chuckle that surely would have offended her was suppressed.

"What a cute little girl!" he smiled, trying to imitate the cooing praise others made when wanting to gain a child's favor. She regarded him with, if anything, heightened suspicion, his forehead protector's insignia which declared him no threat probably being the only thing keeping her from choosing either fight or flight. "What's your name?"

"...Anko," she replied, returning the smile tentatively. "Mitarashi Anko."

"You're a talented shinobi, Anko-chan. Much better than the other two in your cell."

"I know!" she exclaimed, her eyes brightening. Youngsters did not retain their misgivings for long. "They're so slow, it's boring. I only like fighting with sensei. She says I'm really good, too!"

His chuckle at this was authentic. With a pleasant expression on his face, as friendly as he could make it, he bent down and offered a hand to her. "Have you ever considered private training? It would advance your skills much faster than the cell you're currently in."

She bit her lip, considering.

"We could discuss it over dango," he suggested.

The prospect of sweets lit up her face, and her hand grabbed his enthusiastically. "Yes, please!" she chirped, grinning up at him. "You're really nice, mister. Hey, what's your name?"

"Orochimaru," he replied, knowing it wouldn't register until later that she had been offered one-on-one tutoring by one of the legendary Sannin. Sure enough, she just grinned, dragged him off to the nearest restaurant, and began chattering enthusiastically about how she'd need to talk to her dad about it, but he'd probably agree, and how strong was Orochimaru-san? What sorts of things could he teach her that Yokomori-sensei couldn't? And in the middle of a sentence, halfway through saying his name, she stopped and choked. Blinked. Stared up at him. Repeated the name in full. Allowed recognition to click in her brain.

...And squealed. Loudly.

For some reason, he always remembered her as that little girl, talking with her mouth full, shrieking her lungs out in one short, whistle-like burst.

It was a devastating impediment to their sex life when she got older.


End file.
